They have found me. After so long, they have finally discovered the truth. Paul Dawson is a murderer, plain and simple. Over the past couple of weeks, I have been feeling, well, uneasy.
Duality is an important part of life, to embrace the good and the bad, positive and negative. As well, it is just as important to see that most actions in life require more than one individual. Birth, love, robbery, rape. They cannot happen solo, it just doesn't work that way.
I have seemed to struck a nerve on society. There is an uproar and some pieces have come up to surface. An arm in Florida, along with other parts here and there. Will they find me or will they keep searching their fingerprints, void of outcome or identity?
Do you pity me? All the accusing eyes now aware of what I have done, pressing down with hateful stares. I have touched the mind of gods. I have acclimated to the right of determining who lives and who dies.
Taking the advantage of insanity and trying to elude its downfalls, I stretch out across the mind. Each thought is a calculated step, in some psychotic dance that seems so graceful to an untrained eye. I am here, still, I have not lost that yet. Only trailing a few moves back.
The subjugation of my own demise. This torrential influx of tattered and worn emotions, constantly swirling beneath a calm surface. Will they take me over, resulting in the extension of my continuous downward spiral? No. I will retain this force that fights to be free, to jump from the rooftops and shout "I did all these wondrous things!". The world may see them as vile, yet I will always see them as beautiful. For now I will keep them in a warm place, deep within.
It wasn't hard to find my next victim. They come in all colors, assortments, and sizes. Some I kill out of love, others out of revenge. Revenge is my favorite if truth be told. So often people go through life treating others as if they were not as good, beneath them, subhuman. Sadly, a lot of people get away with it because of a career path or money, others simply because they are pitied because those around them see the sad existence they are stuck in. Lannah was a combination of all of these.
The memory of a murderer, it is a wondrous thing. Most people remember birthdays, family gatherings, or birth of children. Of course, I remember these also, see them with a floating eye, but this eye does not feel. Not as it does when I take life. When I remember those special ones, I can see their faces and I feel their blood. The slight heat that matches mine, the fading of warmth as life slips away. Subtle difference. This is what I see, this is what I feel within my memories.
His name was Brad. He was the prick at work that everybody hated. Well, to say what I see as a cliché, hate is a strong word. Jokes behind his back, his arrogant attitude and know it all manner. In all truth, it wasn't even that. It was how you could let it go, try to give him a chance and get along with him, then get screwed over at the earliest convenient moment. Whatever he could do to get over on somebody, he would do it. So I simply returned the favor.
Such a beautiful woman to watch sleep. This has always been my favorite part of a meaningful relationship, seeing her sleep so peacefully. She almost looks angelic. So far away in her dreams, but I know some part of her is dreaming of the one next to her in this bed. I don't know how, but I just know. I always have to play just a little though, it's just too irresistible.